New Years Eve
by Stratusfied247
Summary: Follow-up to Devolution. It's New Years Eve following the events that took place at Club Evolution. This takes a look at what Chyna, Trish, and Stacy have planned for the night.
1. Chyna

_**Author's Note: I originally wrote Chyna's and Trish's stories this past NYE, and decided to write Stacy's and post all three. This isn't exactly a continuation of Devolution, but it's not a full-blown sequel, either. It's more of a follow-up written in one-shot vignettes.  
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"What are you going to do tonight, since I'm not letting you stay here."

Chyna grunted. The muscles in her folded arms tightened. "As if you're in any shape to stop me from staying here if I choose to stay here." She looked out the window and imagined that the view was out of Dave's mansion, looking out onto the water. From the hospital window, she could only see the building next door. If she looked down, she could see the ambulances bringing in patients. There would be more as day turned into night. New Years Eve was a big day for hospitals.

"What do you plan to do for New Years? Watch me sleep?"

"Maybe." She shrugged. She had spent a lot of the past few months watching him sleep, both in and out of hospitals. How was it that Hunter managed to get everyone in so much trouble, but he came out of it mostly unhurt?

First, there was the wound itself, and the blood loss. The knife that tore through Dave's stomach had done a lot more damage than the one that had ruptured Chyna's implant. A hand went to her chest, cupping the replaced breast slightly at the memory. That had hurt like a bitch, and there was a scar that would never go away, but it had been nothing compared to Dave.

The infection came after the surgery, and then two more infections. It was like his body didn't want to heal. If Chyna believed in such things, she would say it was karma. The drugs that flowed out of Club Evolution had fucked up a lot of people and now, payback was the biggest bitch of them all. Would this last stint in the hospital be the last one? If it was the last, was it so because he'd finally get better or because they drove him out of there in a hearse?

Chyna put her hands to her face. She took in a deep breath. Her hands slid up, then back down, and fell to her sides. She was fucking tired. Chyna had turned herself into Dave's personal bodyguard. There wasn't a place he went that she didn't check out first, and not a day went by when she didn't spend the majority of it at his side. If Hunter hadn't been so preoccupied with Stacy, she probably would have heard shit from him about the club's security going to hell in a hand basket.

Well, fuck him. He came out of it clean, right? All he had to worry about was the princess that couldn't sleep at night. And, okay, that wasn't fair. Stacy had been through her own shit. Hell, the girl had actually seen her father's dead body hanging upside down. She deserved nervous breakdowns and sleepless nights. Chyna just wished that there was someone else that could take over once in a while. She wished there was someone she trusted enough to let them take over for a while.

She turned to Dave and he looked… Well, not as pathetic as he had last week, when she had practically dragged him through the emergency room doors. He looked tired, now, like he hadn't slept in a couple of days. He didn't look like he was on death's door anymore, which was a vast improvement. Chyna couldn't wait until he just looked like himself again.

"I know what you should do tonight."

She cocked an eyebrow. Her arms folded over her stomach. "Oh, really?"

"You should get some fucking sleep. You look like shit, babe."

Chyna laughed and said, "You're one to talk." She leaned back against the window and let the humor of the moment take her over. How did he manage to stay so upbeat about the whole thing? Chyna was the one that was supposed to be telling him that he was going to be fine, but instead, it always came out something along the lines of, _This is it, Dave. You're gonna fuckin' die this time. _Instead, Dave was the one that told her he was going to be fine, that she needed to go to bed, or go to work, or go to the gym if it meant she wasn't by his bedside every day, all day.

Sentimentality was always right beneath the surface, but she managed to push it back down. If she tried to play the role of supportive girlfriend, Chyna feared that she would lose some of her edge. The entire basis of their relationship was that they enjoyed each other's company, but he didn't need her and she sure as shit didn't need him. If she started playing nice and sweet, she was afraid that she'd realize that she did need him, and that scared the shit out of her.

Chyna was too out of it during his initial surgeries for her to really think about it. She had her own surgeries and repairs that needed to get done, her own hospital room to languish in, so she didn't have the time to think about what would happen if Dave didn't make it. She didn't even have the time to think that he wouldn't make it. She just assumed that, by the time she was up on her feet, he would be on his, and at some point, a joke about a burst implant would cause him to get a slap upside the back of his head.

But, when she was back on her feet, Dave wasn't. He wasn't out for the count, but he wasn't ready to spar. And when that first infection hit-- She had freaked the fuck out, to put it lightly. Thoughts she never considered went through her mind. She considered life without Dave around, and she didn't like it. He understood her. He accepted her and all the flaws that came from too many misguided years of steroid abuse. She was a pumped up freak to a lot of people, but she was just a woman to Dave, she was his woman.

She didn't want to be like Stacy, and that's what she knew she'd become if she let herself get sentimental. She would cry and blubber and shit, and that was not Chyna's way. She was a tough bitch, and she wasn't going to let a knife-wielding maniac change her. Edge was dead. Dave wasn't dead.

"I'm serious, Chy," Dave said with a groan. He started to push himself up in the bed, but a withering glare from the Amazon across the room made him stop and put his hands up. "Fine, I'll stay where I am."

"Damn straight, you'll stay where you are."

"I'm serious, though," he said, settling back into his pillows. "Go home, Chyna. Get some sleep. Or go to the club and work. If nothing else, some idiot is going to show his ass tonight, and you'll get to take your frustrations out on him."

He had a point. All the jerks came out on New Years' Eve, and so far, not a single one had passed where she didn't hand some dipshit his ass. She always felt better after that, especially knowing that the guy wouldn't try to get her arrested for assault. Besides the fact that she always let the asshole throw the first punch and had witnesses to back it up, there was just no guy out there who was willing to tell the cops , a judge and a jury that he let a chick beat his ass. It didn't matter if the chick could bench press the asshole and three of his friends. It just wasn't something that was said.

"And what are you going to do while I'm at the club ringing in the new year, huh? You planning to toast the new year with a pretty nurse?"

"Toast the new year," Dave said with a snort. "I'd kill for a drink."

"And I'd kill you if you had one." Chyna let her arms drop to her sides, but they only stayed there for a second before her hands found her hips. "You really think I'm just going to leave you here."

"I want you to leave me here," he said, "at least for a while. Go hit the gym or something. Do something that's not standing over me and waiting for me to die."

She was not… Okay, so maybe she was, but could he really blame her? He had come pretty damn close to doing just that. And what if she left and he died while she was gone? That was just a shitty way to go, alone in a hospital room, alone because you sent the one person who was guaranteed to be there when you go away to get a nap. No way was she having that on her conscience.

"You don't have to stay the whole night," he said, as though he was reading her mind. He didn't speak her fears out loud, but his words came quick enough that she had an idea Dave knew what she was thinking. "Just go long enough to say you did something. You can come back here and we'll do the new year ourselves."

"Visiting hours will be over by then."

His smirk was healthier than his pallor. "Yeah," he said, "because they've been enforcing those hours with you."

Chyna shrugged. She did want to take a nap in a real bed, not just the lumpy cot that sat against the room's far wall. She could use a shower, too, instead of the quick sponge baths she'd been taking in the bathroom.

Chyna pulled herself up straight and pointed a finger at him. "You fucking swear to me that you won't die while I'm gone."

He put his hand up and said, "If I were a scout with any honor, I'd say scout's honor. As a degenerate criminal and businessman, I promise not to die before you get back."

"I guess that'll have to do." She let her pointing finger drop. "I'll be back before midnight." Dave nodded. "And I'll be here as much as I want to without you giving me shit for it." He nodded again. Chyna sighed. "Alright," she said. "I'll go and do something. But as far as New Years…" She shrugged. "I'm spending it in the hospital with you."


	2. Trish

New Year's Eve was a pretty good time to start a new job, right? Perhaps, but it wasn't really a new job. A new position, sure, but really, she was there to do the same thing. She was there to turn men on, except now, she was turning on specific men instead of the ones that caught her dancing in the cage. Now, she was supposed to interact with them and let them get ideas in their heads that made them happy. They didn't need to get too many ideas because what they thought was going to happen was most definitely out of the question.

Trish Stratus was now a VIP girl. Ric used to call them his Dolls. That may have been why Trish took the so-called promotion in the first place. Ric always treated his Dolls well, and they didn't have to do anything they didn't want to do. She had made it clear with Hunter that it was going to be the same way. She would smile at the big shots and she would shake her ass. She would even give them a peck on the cheek, maybe even let them get a little more hands-on than she liked if they were wasted, but she wasn't going home with any of them. She wasn't a stripper in the cage, and she wasn't going to be a hooker outside of it.

The Dolls gig was more money, and that was nice. Trish had to find a new place to live, and the only thing she liked wasn't in the price range of her previous pay grade, even if that grade was pretty damn high. The money coming her way, plus the payoff she got from Evolution Enterprises to keep her mouth shut about what they knew regarding Christian's death and Edge's revenge was enough to her a really nice house on the beach, which was exactly what she needed. Looking out on the water, she could almost forget that she had very nearly died.

Trish leaned back, an elbow propped up on the bar, and looked around. It was hard to believe that things were back to normal, and in some ways better than normal. The club was even more popular than it was before the deaths. Everyone wanted to be in the place where the battle had taken place. They all wanted to see the cage dancer that had killed a maniac and they wanted to see the guys that still strutted around like nothing had happened. It was like being invited into a mob den or something. There were too many guys who wanted to take a picture with Hunter or Randy, and too many girls that wanted to go to bed with them.

The cops were the same. Benoit gave them enough time to grieve before he came back around, but back around he came. The drugs were still flowing out of the club, though something had been done to them so less people died. They probably thought of themselves as humanitarians. They were making sure there was good shit on the streets instead of the old grade that sent people to the emergency rooms.

The detractors were the same, too. They still picketed the club during the day, which only seemed to add to the club's mystique. They weren't taking business away, they were giving it. Every once in a while, a bouncer had to toss out somebody who came for revenge. Trish always made a beeline for a backroom when one of those people came in. They all looked like Edge to her, and she had had enough of Edge for three lifetimes.

One of the only things that wasn't the same was Dave's lack of presence, lending to Chyna's absence from the club. There were whispers that he was on death's door, and more than one asshole had tried to get away with shit he wouldn't have before because Chyna wasn't there. Security wasn't nearly as tough as it should have been, especially considering what had already happened. Hopefully Dave would be on his feet soon and Chyna would be back. Trish felt a lot safer when the head of security was on the rounds.

Trish tapped her fingers against the bar when Victoria looked her way. The bartender came over and filled a glass of champagne for her. Trish would have preferred some whiskey, but she had an image to uphold. She was a Doll, now, and Dolls were sophisticated. They didn't shoot whiskey, tequila, or the hard stuff. They were even dainty about their cocaine intake. Trish could play dainty well, but when the VIPs were gone, Trish still went for a shot of whiskey to make her remember why she was doing this. The money, she told herself with the first shot. To piss off Randy, she told herself with the second.

Randy was… He thought that things were going to be normal with them, too, and it just wasn't likely to happen, at least not any time soon. Sure, Trish missed him. She missed having sex with him and the banter they had, snarky and vicious at times, fun and witty at others. Trish would have loved to have things the way they were with Randy before everything happened, but she just couldn't look at him the same. She couldn't look at him without having the urge to punch him in the face and maybe kick him in the stomach.

Hunter brushed past her and Trish stood up straight. He looked over his shoulder and said, "Showtime, Doll." Trish tried not to growl at him. She was acting a part now, and the part she played was someone who thought Hunter was great. She couldn't let the VIPs know that she wanted to punch him in his huge nose.

Trish ran her hands down her dress, smoothed out any wrinkles, and went to work. She put a dazzling smile on her face and she made the group of Japanese businessmen she was walking toward think that she only had eyes for them. It was an Academy Award winning performance, because the last thing she was thinking about was them. She was thinking about how she should have gotten a job somewhere else, maybe even in another state. She was thinking that she should have gotten as far away from this bunch as humanly possible because she needed to heal. She had no scars, no open wounds, no lingering backlash of the heroin, but she needed to heal all the same.

Hunter and Trish moved the men through the club, ushered them up the stairs and into the finest VIP room available. Everything was posh, from the thousand dollar carpeting to the calf leather sofa and chairs. There were two other Dolls in the room and both of them were standing on either side of Randy, who was exactly the person she didn't want to see. Trish shot Hunter a look. He had sworn that Randy wouldn't be in the room when she did this. Then, she berated herself for believing a word that came out of Hunter's mouth. He may have been a different man where Stacy was concerned, but for everyone else, Hunter was the same lying asshole only in it for his own amusement.

Randy wasn't nearly as good at playing a happy role as Trish, evidenced by his quick and terse welcome to the gentlemen that Trish was supposed to be giving a Happy New Year. He took Trish's arm and said, "Excuse us."

Trish stumbled over her heels as Randy pulled her out of the room. "What's your problem!" He didn't pay her any attention. He pulled her up more stairs until they were in the room with the view. Undoubtedly, Hunter was spinning the situation downstairs.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm working," Trish said, yanking her arm away from him. She ran her hands down the front of her black dress and sliced her fingers across the hot pink sash in the middle. "What does it look like I'm doing."

"You're not a Doll."

Trish looked up at him and laughed. This was rich! She should have known that this wasn't something Randy would have agreed to. It wasn't so bad when she was working in the cage. Trish was untouchable in the cage, an untainted and untouched fantasy. As a Doll, there would be hands on her.

"Maybe you should talk to your partner, because I am one now," Trish told him. She didn't add "at least for now" because that was none of his business. She had told Hunter, this was just a trial. She didn't know if she'd like it, and the only way he could get her to do it at all was to guarantee that if she didn't like it, she could go back to the cage with the same pay. Hunter had balked at the pay, but Trish made a good case for herself. She had saved his undeserving life. She had earned the right to a raise, and no matter what job she did, she was getting that raise.

"I can't believe—" Randy punched out but pulled it at the last second when he realized his hand was about to go through the window. "Are you crazy? You can't possibly have thought I'd go for this."

"I don't care what you go for, Randy. We're not together anymore, so you don't have a say in what I do."

"I'm still your boss."

"You're my boss when it's convenient to you." Trish sighed and shook her head. "I'm not having this conversation with you, Randy. I have things to do and people to please. It's New Year's Eve. I'm going to enjoy it as much as I'm able."

"And will you really enjoy it?" There was something in his voice that offended her, like he was calling her a whore or something. Yet, beneath that, there was incredulity. He knew she wouldn't like it, and it was like he wanted her to know that he knew that, as if he was showing her just how well he knew her, how much they needed to be together or something.

"It's my job, Randy," she told him. "It doesn't matter if I enjoy it."

Trish turned away from him and stalked across the floor. With her hand on the door, she stopped because he was talking. "I had plans for us, for New Year's," he said. "If you weren't so goddamned stubborn about everything, making yourself stay pissed at me. It was going to be the greatest New Year you'd ever ushered in."

She knew better, even as she looked over her shoulder at him. She knew that it was just a trick, a way for him to get his way, but still, she looked at him and asked, "What were the plans?"

"Does it really matter, now?"

Trish opened her mouth to say that it did matter, that if they really were that great, then his plans were better than hers by a mile. It wasn't the truth, though, and Trish knew that. As much as she wanted to get back to normal, she just didn't have it in her. Trish's shoulders sagged. "No, Randy," she said, "I guess it doesn't."

Trish sighed and looked away from him before she could see any reaction on his face. What would that reaction be? Hurt? Anger? Betrayal? It didn't really matter, just like his plans didn't matter. "Happy New Year," Trish muttered, then she went out the door.


	3. Stacy

This date was supposed to be a good idea. She was getting too used to Hunter, letting her mind come up with ideas about them that would never come to fruition. That was why she moved out in the first place. He was really good about taking care of her after everything but staying at his place… Spare room or not, it was a closeness that she couldn't handle. She knew that they only grew so close because of her father's death, and that wasn't the kind of thing Stacy could build anything on. It wasn't the kind of thing that she wanted to build anything on.

Of course, that was just pretending that there was anything to build on, anyway. Hunter was—Well, he was Hunter. He had his life and he had his business, and Stacy was there because he felt obligated. At least, that's what Stacy kept telling herself. She insisted that the only reason he cared so much was because he felt guilty, which was completely laughable. Sure, Hunter was involved in the mess that got Ric killed, but it wasn't like he made Ric do anything. No one made Ric Flair do anything. Well, someone made him die, but—

Stacy didn't continue going down that path. She was on a date, a very nice date with a very nice guy. Tony Dovolani was sweet and cute, and he was talented. Stacy watched him dance earlier in the night when she insisted that he dance with that other girl out there on the floor. She wasn't much of the dancing type, not anymore. She used to dance, but not the kind of dancing that Tony did. He did ballroom dance and latin dance. Stacy did ballet a long time ago, and she didn't think that would help her.

She met Tony at work, when he came to visit someone. He told her that she looked very pretty, and Stacy blushed before thanking him and moving on. After that, he seemed to visit more and more until, finally, Stacy agreed to go out with him on New Years Eve. Why not, right? It was better than what she originally had in mind, which was absolutely nothing. She'd go earlier in the day to her father's grave, but that night, she would just sit at home and watch the ball drop. It wasn't exactly going to be party time at Stacy's place.

Stacy wondered what Trish was doing this New Years Eve. The two hadn't talked much since everything went down at the club. Life was not a Lifetime movie, though they did seem to be living one of those plot lines for a while. Two women, not the closest of friends, have an intense moment bringing down the man that had been torturing them. They bond in the aftermath. Yeah, right. There was no real bonding. Maybe they looked at each other through different eyes, but shared hands pulling the trigger of a gun didn't make them the best of friends. It just made them a memory for each other the second worst moment of each other's lives.

"You're very far away," Tony said from the other side of the table. Stacy looked up, focused on Tony, and his dark eyes were concerned.

Stacy gave him a small smile. "I'm sorry. I just—I haven't really been out much lately." Honestly, Stacy didn't really go on many dates even before her father was killed. Most of the nice guys had heard enough stories about Ric Flair that they were afraid to date his daughter. The majority of the ones with the guts to ask her out were usually to over the top for her, as if they were doing it just to prove how tough they were. Occasionally, the guy just ended up boring.

"I can understand that," Tony said, "after what you've been through. I just hoped to show you a good time tonight, maybe put a brighter outlook on the new year."

That was sweet, and Stacy told him so. She could use a bright outlook. She could use a fresh start. Stacy knew she couldn't living her life in the past. She couldn't trap herself in that terrible week, the horrific things that she'd seen and experienced. She wanted to move on with her life. She wanted to have a good time that didn't involve stopping and realizing that her father was dead, lives were ruined, and she shouldn't be having such a good time.

Hunter had told her to have a good time when she told him she was going on a date. God, why did she have to keep thinking about him? He had his plans and she had hers. He was probably had the club, anyway, schmoozing some rich guy who was going to drop a lot of money on women and alcohol. He wasn't thinking about her, so why was she thinking about him?

Stacy thought it was because she saw a hint of reluctance when he told her to enjoy herself. Maybe she was making it up, projecting or something. She would never say it out loud, but she really wanted him to tell her to blow it off. Stacy didn't expect him to start saying he loved her and didn't want her dating anyone else. Even if he felt that way, which Stacy figured he probably didn't, Hunter wasn't the kind of guy who would actually say it. She just wanted him to express any kind of interest at all in spending the night with her, even if it was just having her come to the club or something.

Maybe that was why Stacy didn't cancel the date, even though she was unsure about actually going. Hunter wasn't showing any real interest, not that kind of interest, so why not go out and have fun. There was no point in waiting around, hoping for something that was never going to come. Besides, Stacy probably would have freaked out, anyway. Hunter would have said something about staying with him for New Years Eve, Stacy would have freaked and run away, and Hunter would have never said anything again. Everything would have been ruined. It was really best to keep things the way that they were.

Wow, she had an active imagination. Stacy seemed to live in a world made of "would have" when it came to Hunter. She came up with the scenarios, and she played them out in her head. Usually, those scenarios ended up pretty bad. Stacy's active imagination didn't seem able to take her to the happy ending. It was like the entire purpose of imagining the situations was to convince herself that, should something like that actually happen, it would end badly, anyway.

"Stacy?"

She sighed. "Tony, I'm so sorry. I just… I like you, I do. This dating thing is just hard, I guess." Stacy shrugged. There had to be a better reason that that, one that sounded at least believable, but the other reason was rude to mention. She was on a date with a guy that didn't care about her connections to the underbelly of Miami. She couldn't tell him that she wasn't paying attention because she had fallen for her dead father's business partner.

"Dance with me," Tony said. He put his hand out, extending over the table. Stacy shook her head and Tony smiled at her. "With legs like that, you have to be a dancer."

She shrugged. "Ballet, sure, but what you do—" Stacy sighed. "You're amazing."

"You could be, too. We won't do anything hard. I promise."

Stacy thought about it. She could still say no, and Tony would accept that. However, it would pretty much guarantee that he wouldn't ask her out again. Stacy wanted to give this a shot with Tony. He seemed like the kind of guy that Ric would like for her, and he genuinely cared whether or not she enjoyed herself. He was trying so hard, and she had to give him something. She didn't want second date chances out the window because she was hung up on something that would never happen.

Stacy reached out and took his hand. "Okay," she said. They both started to stand when Stacy's phone rang. The phone was in her small bag, but the ringer was loud enough that she could hear it. This late, it might have been an emergency. What if Dave had taken a turn for the worse and everyone was being called so they could rush to the hospital? She couldn't just ignore the call.

"I'm sorry," Stacy said, pulling her hand back. "I have a friend in the hospital and—"

"It's fine," Tony said, "but if it's not serious, we're dancing, yes?"

Stacy smiled as she pulled the phone out and flipped it open. "Yes," she said. The phone went to her ear. "Hello?"

"Stacy?"

A lump formed in her throat. Maybe it was bad news, after all. "Hunter?" She dipped the phone down and said to Tony, "Excuse me, just one minute." He nodded, and for a moment Stacy thought that maybe he was too nice. Shouldn't he have been upset, or at least disappointed? There was nothing on his face, at all. He merely sat back down as Stacy stood all the way up and walked away from the table, to a relatively quiet wall to the side.

"Is something wrong? Did something happen to Dave?"

"What? No! I just called to see how the date was going, see if you needed me to come by and kick the guy's ass or something."

Stacy laughed, and relief over it being nothing serious made the whole thing funnier than it actually was. "Hunter, isn't that usually reserved for my bestie or something?"

"You don't have any best girlfriends," he said, his tone very matter of face. "You have me," Hunter said, "and I could kick the guy's ass if you needed me to."

"Well, thank you, but I don't need you to kick anyone's ass. Tony's actually very nice." Stacy's head turned, her eyes searching for and finding the table. "We were actually getting ready to dance."

"Dance, huh?"

"Yes," she said, "dance. I haven't done it in a while, but Tony's a professional dancer, so I figure I'm safe with him."

Hunter was silent for a minute, long enough for Stacy to look at the face of her phone and make sure that the call hadn't been dropped. "Hunter?"

"Safe is good," Hunter said, his voice low. He cleared his throat. "You have a good time, then."

"Hunter, is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he told her. "Look, I have to get back to VIP. I was just checking up on you. Have a good time, Stacy. You deserve it."

"Thanks."

"Yeah, well… Happy New Year."

Hunter hung up before Stacy could respond. She stared at the phone for a moment then turned her attention back to Tony. He was waiting for her. He had asked her out, he was asking her to dance, and he was waiting for her to come back to the table. He was not Hunter in so many ways, and that was a good thing. Hunter didn't ask her out, and he would never ask her to dance. Hunter would never do a lot of things.

Stacy slapped her phone shut and walked back to the table, her legs strong and her will resolved. Back at the table, she slipped her phone back into her black beaded handbag, then turned a smile on Tony, a smile brighter than any she had given him so far. It felt good to smile, and it felt even better to mean it. Stacy put her hand out and said, "We're still dancing, right?"

Tony laughed as he stood and took her head. "Yes," he said, "we're still dancing."


End file.
